The Last Bladesman
by GloryOfBromacia
Summary: In a new world dominated by political geniuses, those that formerly revelled in the power of their arts were forgotten, slowly losing their fame. As the Age of Peace comes to an end, a certain Darkin Blade, allied with several of the most powerful figures of ancient, seek to restore the chaos in the Age of War. In the face of such, only the greatest duelists can hope to prevent it.
1. Prologue

**THE STORY, EVENTS, CHARACTERS, AND PLOT ARE PURELY FICTIONAL. ANY SIMILARITIES WHATSOEVER ARE PURELY COINCIDENTAL.**

**I DON'T OWN ANY OF THE CHARACTERS BELOW, THEIR CREATIONS ARE CREDITS TO RIOT GAMES.**

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_**THE LAST BLADESMAN**_

* * *

Journal Entry #312

It was an…exhausting day, as usual. Apart from the number of technical difficulties I had to manage, that Prodigal Explorer managed to get me into trouble yet again.

A few entries before, I once noted the documents Ezreal had shown me, insisting that it was of "great importance". Perhaps I didn't show as much concern as he wished, for he took to the public regarding this issue. The result…? Hundreds of letters addressed to me, my superiors berating me regarding the issue, and more work to do.

Honestly, I hate you, Ezreal.

I might have been slightly dismissive of him then, but the evidence he has compiled thus far, although nothing close to of "great importance", have proved to be rather concerning. I have already commanded that this ancient figure, whoever he is, be investigated more thoroughly.

The last time we faced such a mystery was regarding the Grandmaster of Arms. He refused to tell us about his origins, and as of now, no one was able to coax it out of him yet, that scoundrel. Even so, I do not see how this…evidence can lead to a major breakthrough. If you want my honest opinion, I consider this as an absolute waste of time. However, for the benefit of doubt…lets just go over this again.

Case #931, Evidence #1

A stained glass window from a Demacian cathedral. Honestly, I don't know how he managed to get it. With all this commotion recently, those Demacians have broken the previous record for security. Just like the rest of the evidence, it displays a winged figure wielding a jagged-edged sword. According to my detectives, they have checked with the Demacians regarding their religions and deities, and not one of them translates to this figure.

Case #931, Evidence #2

This is where it begins to get really interesting. Perhaps this figure was not merely exclusive to the Demacians alone, and belonged to the age before the Rune Wars. Noxians are the exact kind of people that would immortalise a great god. I mean, look at the Darkwill era and you'll see what I mean. The figure must have been of great importance for the Noxians to even bother sculpting a figure of it. But what victory did this unknown figure win?

I need to go now. Besides from the amount of work requiring my attention, Ezreal has promised to bring more evidence tomorrow. Perhaps they can tie up the loose ends in this case.

Henceforth concludes Diary Entry #312.

* * *

Journal Entry #313

Surprisingly, today was a rather comfortable experience in office. It seemed the Council wanted me to wholeheartedly devote my attention to the case regarding the unknown figure. Ezreal did manage to bring more evidence, this time a library book (he had borrowed/stolen it from the Piltoverian Library. Personally, I expected better), and an urn he ***ahem*** "borrowed' while on an expedition in the Shurima Desert.

Well, the book definitely confirmed my suspicions. You don't see people worshipping statues of figures unless they're gods. Even Noxians aren't so fanatic. So what we have here is a figure that's been at the core of a conflict. Maybe some God of War that's gone bad? Demacians don't like people that inspire war and violence, and the Noxians aren't telling us anything either.

Apparently, he's someone important as well, his blade on the cover of that book. It has quite a design, actually. Would look good indeed on my wall. So what does it say? Apart from Noxian propaganda, here's the paragraph that fascinated me most. It's about our dear old Dark God that appeared and inspired the defeated to become victors.

"They rose from their knees as though he'd lit their very blood aflame. The shamed general watched as his men were cleaved by an army that had begged for mercy just moments before. His men had become murderers and butchers. As they closed on him, the general could not be certain whether they were still men at all. "

Of course, as per Noxian tradition, there are still other parts about dedicating a shrine to this…godlike figure in Noxus at all, but I'll leave that out. Apart from the book, Ez 's got quite the evidence as well. There's an urn from Shurima that he got, and for this one, I literally had to threaten the man for it. He seemed so incredibly attached to the damn thing I can't figure out why.

The urn didn't tell us anything interesting in particular, except that he's more than a thousand years old. The same story happened as in the book-a general about to get pissed on, then this guy magically appears and beats his enemies with a 1-100 disadvantage.

So what do we have here? Let's gather our evidence gathered thus far and make a conclusion.

We're dealing with either an extraterrestrial creature from maybe the Void or an unknown figure from an ancient civilisation past. What we know is that he's not human. Nobody can have wings, survive long enough to be immortalised by an urn a thousand years ago and then honoured by a stained window created in the past century.

This guy likes violence. Literally. He's inspired quite some bloodshed in others, and the bloody description of his enemies didn't quite help in persuading me he was cute and innocent either.

Looking at him, he's humanoid and has wings, looks like he's wearing some sort of armour, and has claws for hands. Even so, his defining feature is his sword, of course. I'll have men all over on lookout for this guy, hope we get' em soon enough.

So that rounds off my personal report for today. Tomorrow, we'll talk to champions about this creature. You'd never know, and plus, we've got champions from other worlds and thousands of years old.

Quite an intriguing figure, all in all. This…warrior seems powerful enough to decimate thousands of men with less than a hundred soldiers beside him, and'll be quite an addition to the League of Legends. However, let's not rule out the fact that he's potentially powerful, and very well may resist attempts to be brought into submission.

Good night, all.

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Journal Entry #314

The sinister truth behind this…creature is slowly being unveiled every day. For the past 2 days, I have absenced myself of this recording for the dire matter at hand. It seems that this abomination is even worse than we thought. I shall attempt to copy the interview my subordinates conducted with various champions here, and what led me to the final discovery.

_Champion #38: **Tryndamere**: The Barbarian King_

**Summoner** **Remus**: As included in the evidence, we have discovered evidence of an ancient being, whose very presence causes those around him to succumb to an unquenchable bloodthirst. Various civilizations have been said to be on the verge of collapse, only to be rescued by this mysterious entity. We were wondering if, Lord Tryndamere, you have your personal experiences with this creature…?

**Tryndamere**: This…creature you speak of…does he frequent the Freljord in his travels?

**Summoner Remus**: What of his travels are unknown, but Freljordians have been describing him partaking in local clashes between tribes, massacring his enemies.

**Tryndamere**: It is him. After all these years…

**Summoner Remus**: What…? I'm sorry, but I don't quite catch your drift.

**Tryndamere**: It was this creature that attacked my tribe, slaughtering the innocent villagers and killing my parents before my very eyes. He…is my creator.

The result of this is even more disturbing than we thought. Tryndamere has used his diplomatic immunity to avoid being asked further questions, refusing to answer to our suspicions. If beings as powerful as Tryndamere can be created, indirectly, by this creature, how many of such powerhouses has he spawned in his wake already? Based on the records, he has partaken in no less than 20 battles, dating from thousands of years past to Freljordian conflicts a few months back. Demacians we have approached shared the experiences of their ancestors on verge of defeat, only to be saved by this figure.

Apart from the interviews we have conducted, Ezreal has provided our forensic scientists with even more artefacts to ponder over. This time, it was an Ionian Woodblock and a dagger crafted in exact fashion to this monster's blade. It is now officially proven that his presence stays not only within the Continent, but is capable of extending even to the Ionian Isles themselves.

I...I don't really quite know how to respond to this. We have already despatched scouting units all over Runeterra in the search for this creature, but I doubt we will find it unless it chooses to reveal itself. If it is already worshipped by people...has already slaughtered thousands of men...and created beings as powerful as Tryndamere...what more can it do?

Until we manage to locate this creature's whereabouts, we can only pray for the best of luck. Signing off.

* * *

Journal Entry #397

The search for the creature is still ongoing, although most of the Senior Summoners have already decided it is for a hopeless cause. If a beast like itself has been capable of shrouding itself for centuries, how confident are we of finding it now? I suppose the Institute must have finally tired of the creature (seeing as it only appears now and then or so), for it has decided to send me back to my office duties. The creature's files have been officially shut down, though it was a great waste indeed. Imagine! Thousands of hours wasted and millions of gold pieces spent.

I do not know how long the search will continue to persevere, but I do know that from the vast amount of manpower diverted to other duties that it will lose almost completely its effectiveness. In a way, I am happy that this project has finally ended. Even though it was a break from the usual routine, the amount of research has proven itself to be dark and sinister. I still have nightmares, occasionally, about this abomination visiting me at night. I know its stupid, but...

It doesn't matter. All in all, the quest for the creature has been shut down, and I'm glad. There might be more work in the office, but its better than living life in some odd manner of intimidation. I will sleep well tonight, knowing that I have finally been reassigned back to my original duties.

* * *

Journal Entry #398

It seems that for every single time, it _HAS_ to be Ezreal that just stirs the matter up. Well, the Prodigal Explorer just came up with a new piece of interest that seemingly revived the entire project. The man got it quite a while ago, but claims it took him 'a while' to realise the connection of it to the creature. Yep, sure thing, pal. "Prodigal Explorers" like you have an odd habit of revealing objects only after you have investigated, checked, and studied them thoroughly. What is there to convince me you haven't done the same with them things now?

This time, its a couple of old coins. They haven't got any value nowadays, and even our finest archaelogists are unable to deduce where it came from, what civilisation it was from, or how much it's worth. One thing is sure, however: the design of it takes after the creature's blade, although it isn't quite the exact same serrated edge. Is there...an entire horde of these creatures, hiding somewhere and reproducing in secret? We don't know as of yet, but we're not ruling anything out.

We've went out to this Card Master, which should be none other than our dearest Twisted Fate. The man's still denying everything and how he got these, but I'll get it outta him. Either ways, once we discover his identity, we'll run a search on him with Zilean. The man knows everything.

All of a sudden, I'm back in the action again! Yay. I suppose I must be happy really, but just being excited about quitting the job yesterday makes this so...ironic. Still gotta work tomorrow, so I'll make this quick. Bye.

* * *

Journal Entry #399

So finally, the truth behind this creature is unravelled. Mr. TF's finally come clean(after we provided him with three chests of gold), and said he found these coins near the Great Barrier's extreme west, near the supposed location of Icathia. The place's got a nasty history, with the Void portals and all, but it appears Icathia's not only got the Void to become an extreme concern.

Apparently, Icathia was constructed by this supposed mythical race known as the Darkin a few thousand years ago. We spoke to the natives around the supposed region, and they told us that. No one's ever seen the city for some odd reason, but they swear their ancestors' once saw it with their own eyes. Some of them still have the currency of Icathia, which happened to be the very coins that so sparked our interest.

We've run our research with Zilean, and he's confirmed the existence of the Darkin. It seems that they were an ancient, warlike race, composed of five great warriors. They were the ones that declared dominance over the humans in the Icathian region, and used them as slave labour to construct Icathia, living there until the Invasion of the Void. Four of their members were either killed or kidnapped, and I think the last remaining warrior is what we're looking at: Aatrox, the Darkin Blade. There used to be the Darkin Aegis, the Darkin Pride and two other fancy namesakes. He was the only one who survived the crisis and continued to live on a corrupted version of the original Darkin vision (to forge a name in battle). Which sadly also meant engaging in war and killing. The incident of Tryndamere was an anomaly, and perhaps paranoia on our part. Not everyone has enough willpower to be forged into the likes of Tryndamere, and it appears in the long history of the Darkin's rampage that the Barbarian King's creation was the first.

So what do we do now? We can only wait for Aatrox to reveal himself. According to the nomads around those parts, the Darkin would instigate wars between kingdoms, appearing then when all hope was lost to aid the defeated, turning into the tide and creating a spectacular victory. The Kalamanda Incident had already brought Demacia and Noxus to the brink of war, and even now, their relations are extremely strained. I worry that if the Darkin is as effective as claimed, he could manipulate the situation and start another era of bloodshed...

It is the Institute of War's job to contain war and make sure no such devastating events ever happen again after the Third Rune War. We've already got that creepy guy that never says anything about his plans, a hotheaded and rash prince that is also potential successor of the largest kingdom in the world, and several extremely powerful forces with their motives unknown hailing from the Shadow Isles. With this Darkin Blade, who can fathom the future?

I've decided to stop the writing as of tonight. It has been a good experience, all in all, writing this journal, but with all my work at hand, my time extended to it can no longer be as before. I have to investigate; study more about this Darkin's extent of powers. With all this at hand, there is no time to lose when he could possibly be starting the Fourth Rune War. I must dedicate all my attention to seeking him out before that happens.

Who knows what the future might bring...?


	2. Chapter 1: Beginning of the Reckoning

**THE STORY, EVENTS, CHARACTERS, AND PLOT ARE PURELY FICTIONAL. ANY SIMILARITIES WHATSOEVER ARE PURELY COINCIDENTAL.**

**I DON'T OWN ANY OF THE CHARACTERS BELOW, THEIR CREATIONS ARE CREDITS TO RIOT GAMES.**

* * *

**_THE LAST BLADESMAN_**

_Chapter I_: _Beginning of the Reckoning_

There was a bodily fluid in any living being, one that was essential for the survival of any human. It delivers necessary substances and oxygen to the cells. What most people knew it as was, simply, the most important fluid in the body.

**BLOOD**.

The lone figure atop the hill loved its sensation, the smooth liquid trickling out of his victims' bodies and absorbed, with him growing stronger in the process. Drip, drip, drip drip. Ah, how he loved the very sound. Apart from the sweet, melodious clashing of steel and the agonised screams of the crippled, the rhythmic dripping of blood was among those that sounded like music to his ears. Moreover, it came with a pool of crimson that would accumulate beneath the wound. Indeed, it was a event to be savoured.

He was the Darkin Blade, the last member of an ancient race possessing great and unrivalled power. Some of his enemies had termed him a murderer, others thought of him as a psychopath, but he considered them wrong. It was, perhaps, the difference in their ideologies that led to this classification. He wasn't particularly in agreement with those that hailed him as gods either. To himself, Aatrox was a mere artist or a composer that simply dabbled in his own interests, creating pieces of art with every sweep of his blade. Finally, his work would culminate in a glorious masterpiece he called victory. The greater the odds against him in the war, the more enjoyable the battle would be. It was beyond beautiful, the satisfying look of absolute defeat changing sides so quickly from an army to the other.

Mankind was weak, he thought, shaking his hooded head. They gave up too easily, lost hope too easily, and never exploited their full selves in the battlefield. Aatrox himself had never hesitated to charge into the fray with nothing but his blade. Battle was what people lived for, he thought. The thrill, the ecstacy-it mattered not whatever side you fought for. The only important thing that truly mattered was the fight itself. He didn't know why, but after the construction of a building they all termed as 'the Institute of War', the amount of conflicts had lessened greatly across the world. This frustrated Aatrox. He needed to be involved in great campaigns, wars that would change the future of the world, wars that were truly challenging. In the past, he had clashed with warriors, the best the world could offer: the most ruthless and efficient mercenaries, great Noxian gladiators, and the Tribe Protectors of Shurima...

Now, the thrilling sensation he once felt coursing in himself was absent. He had become so...desperate for conflict that he even took it upon himself to participate in little fights such the miniature wars fought between the various Freljordian tribes.

But it was about to be over soon.

Beneath the dusty, frayed edges of the hood, a sinister smile emerged, thick lips pushing against darkened skin. The Darkin's red eyes glowed with an uncontrollable intensity at the anticipation of War once more. Soon, he promised himself, he would have his eternal conflict.

* * *

On the other side of the world, far away from the abandoned ruins of Urtistan, a figure emerged from the stone battlements of the Noxian Arena, panting heavily and clutching his injuries. The mercenary slinked into a dark corner behind the building and groaned, watching his life trickle out of his injuries. There were few warriors that could match his combat prowess, if there had been any at all. And he certainly hadn't expected to be almost defeated by a arrogant and boastful gladiator. What had happened?

The mercenary swallowed, trying to suppress the pain. "Draaaaaven"'s axes might very well have had severed his vital blood vessels. What other reason could there be for the seemingly never-ending blood flow from his chest?

Beneath his mask, the mercenary shut his eyes, grinding his teeth against each other. It didn't matter. He had been through worse and he had survived. He was Jax, the greatest weapons master and mercenary in the world. There was no way a mere match in a Noxian arena could defeat him when the untold horrors of the Shadow Isles and merciless chill of the Freljord couldn't. He groaned once more, peeling his hand away from a vicious wound that stretched from his solar plexus to his waist. Red liquid gushed out, no longer bound by the hand that formerly clasped it.

This...cannot be... the mercenary thought as he felt his head droop, fighting a desperate battle to keep his eyelids from shutting. I...I am Jax...the greatest...mercenary...of all time...

In the Noxian slums, a distinctly loud crash could be heard as a hulking figure, dressed in the garments of a Noxian Gladiator, pitched over and lay still.

* * *

As Jax came to, the first thing he smelt was blood. How could he forget the familiar scent of the crimson fluid that ran within everyone, the liquid that had threatened to empty itself of him mere hours ago? He lifted a hand from his chest, feeling something rough behind his tunic. _Bandages_, Jax thought as he relocated a three fingered arm to his forehead, trying to ease a headache. Who had saved him? Noxian Gladiators were not particularly well-treated in the harsh world of the Noxian Empire, and seeing from the peeling pint decorating the walls around him, his saviour was not exactly well-to-do. So who was it then?

Jax shrugged, his broad shoulders rising and falling. It mattered not anyway. All Noxians wanted was gold. He would deposit a few on the way out, and his mysterious benefactor would be repaid. He would be indebted no further. Swinging his trident on his shoulder, the gladiator walked to the door of the tiny cell, wincing upon hearing the loud and piercing creak as the handle twisted. Pushing open the door, Jax prepared to leave as he...

"Going so soon?"

Instantly turning around to face the speaker, Jax had already unsheathed his weapon in the blink of an eye, ready to strike at a moment's notice and deliver a crushing blow no human could withstand. However, the being in front of him was not a mere mortal. He was, by far, too inhuman, too tall, too bulky in his build. The way his muscles interlocked like metal plates, the wisdom of the man's eyes, and the peculiar aura surrounding him convinced the mercenary of that. Six eyes glared behind a iron plated helmet at two intimidating, glowing orbs that stared back, unwilling to give in. "Who are you?" Jax demanded, readying a combat stance.

The figure laughed, a deep, throaty sound. "I am surprised, Jaximus of Noxus, that you would be of such attitude towards your saviour. Is this how you Noxians usually repay people that risk their very lives to rescue yours, at the risk of being captured under the charge of assisting an exile?"

Before the gladiator could respond, the figure had already held up a gloved hand, five oversized, bulging fingers extending outward. From their very appearance, Jax had no doubt that they possessed remarkable power. Recognising the sign, Jax remained silent. The behemoth seemed pleased, bobbing his head forward as his eyes narrowed in delight. "You must be wondering why I termed you as an exile," he crooned, tilting his chin. "When you left that day from the Noxian Arena, refused to give an official statement or even a letter of absence, you were branded...traitor. I know it must sound preposterous, but Draven was a national favourite and by defeating him, you have drawn unnecessary attention to yourself. I believe you have heard of General Darius, the Hand of Noxus...?"

Jax nodded. The "blood brothers", as they were known, were infamous throughout all of Runeterra, They might have often shown hostility towards each other due to their different ideologies, but Jax knew that by defeating Draven, he had humiliated Darius as well. The Hand of Noxus was not one to easily forgive and forget. He could easily have described Jax' recent absence from the arena as cowardly fleeing and branded him an exile.

"I believe that you must know about the Noxian politics that go on around the High Council. I need not elaborate, you know more about Draven's pride than I do and that he will never let this defeat rest. He will seek you, weaken you, and finally kill you before a crowd to reclaim his lost honour. Draven will be Draven. Either ways, you must be wondering why I decided to save you."

Jax nodded.

"Very well. When I saw you in the street, I was close to ignoring you and letting you be. Close...so close. But I am not ignorant to talent. Not everyone has the potential to defeat Noxus' greatest gladiator and walk away alive."

Suddenly, the figure turned around to face him, pointing a finger towards the gladiator. "You will train. You will stay here, and I will teach you the true art of combat. And finally, when you achieve mastery, you will be free from the dangers Noxus poses to you."

"All this...for free?" Jax sounded out suspiciously, unable to believe his saviour's statements. "You want to help me, teach me, guide me, and possibly break the law...just for a gladiator that has no idea what he's gotten into?"

The figure smiled, revealing a row of sharp teeth with scarlet blots dotting its surface. "You are more important than you know, Jaximus of Noxus. You have the power to defeat the very embodiment of evil and rescue the world from the grasp of war. You just don't know it yet."

* * *

As he listened to the babble he was convinced was nonsense, Jax had no idea what his saviour was talking about. Sure, the man might have endangered his own life in exchange for his own, but a Noxian Gladiator and ordinary mercenary's destiny was to change the world...? The man must have been mad. Perhaps he had gone insane while practising his form of combat, whatever it was. Either ways, he did not want to find out. It was better to decline now than to regret later.

"No."

Surprisingly, the two words came easily out of Jax' mouth, as if those were the very thoughts he had wanted to say all the while.

"I'm sorry?"

The volume of the voice hadn't changed, but there was something about the way he spoke it, in a lower and deeper manner that made it sound intimidating. Dangerous. As if if he wouldn't submit to the man's wishes, he would simply pummel him until he did.

"I said no. I'm sorry, but I have a life to go on with. If Noxus does not wish to have me as a citizen anymore, I can go to Zaun. Piltover would open its doors to me as well. Even Bilgewater would have needs for my talents. I'm sure I can handle fine without your teachings..."

The man smiled unpleasantly. "What makes you think that you can?" he said, pronouncing each word deliberately. There was something sinister in his voice now-Jax was sure of it. As he saw him enter a combat stance and growl threateningly, as if invoking a power within him, his thoughts were confirmed.

He would have to fight his way out of here.


End file.
